Author's Notes: I'm writing this introductory chapter to feel out whether there is interest in a story like this. I'm not positive I will continue it, but if I do, I have a loose idea where it will go. Eventual Hermione/Ominis pairing, but I don't know when. I'm sort of writing this on company time during periods of boredom, so updates may be infrequent. We'll see. Hope you like!

June 18, 1996

One hundred and five years later, Hermione clamped the palm of her trembling hand against her mouth to quiet her breathing, praying the Death Eaters outside the Time Chamber would just move on. She, Harry, and Neville stood motionless behind the locked door, only just then realizing that Ginny, Luna, and Ron were not with them. They must have gotten separated in the chaos... taken a different path out of the Prophecy Room. Were they okay?

No time to panic about them right now... the door was being forced open. Hermione couldn't stop a small wimper from escaping, but it was muffled by her hand. Harry silently shushed her with a finger to his lips as he raised his wand.

Two Death Eaters finally entered, searching for them. One turned to check behind the door.

"Stupefy!"

Harry's wand was directed point-blank at the wizard's temple. He was unconscious before even touching the floor, but that gave the second wizard time to whirl around and reactively cast...

"AVADA KE-"

The Death Eater's wand tip glowed green, but the spell was aborted when Harry full-body tackled the masked murderer. Neville had cast Expelliramus, but now both Harry and the Death Eater were disarmed and scrambling on the floor. Hermione's heart had stopped as she looked down the wand and heard those infamous words, and it took her brain what felt like a minute to snap back to the present.

"Stupefy!" she exclaimed, blasting the Death Eater all the way against the opposite wall as he reached for his wand. His unconscious body slammed into a crystal bell jar that in turn knocked a large glowing vase. The Dumbledore's Army members watched in surreal horror as the Death Eater's head rapidly de-aged shrunk into that of an infant. They didn't notice the falling vase until it was too late.

SMASH!

The ethereal, glowing vase that looked like it was crafted from squirming blue and white light shattered to the ground in the direction of Hermione. The rush of wind from the fall blew her heavy curls back as though she'd stepped into a gale, but it subsided the moment it happened. Harry and Neville paused... then let out a guffaw of relief. Wordlessly, they stepped out of the door and back into the Department of Mysteries to find their friends and get the bloody hell out of this mess.

They tried the door to the right of the Time Chamber, but it wouldn't budge. And too late!

"Impedimenta!" two voices shouted in unison behind them.

Harry and Neville's movements slowed significantly. Hermione saw Dolohov turn and fill his lungs to alert the other Death Eaters, and she didn't even think - she just reacted. "Silencio!"

Dolohov's voice went silent as though someone had pressed his mute button.

Hermione turned to Harry and Neville, her situational awareness sluggish and inexperienced. "Finite Incantatum," she waved her wand.

The spell on Harry lifted just in time for him to yell "HERMIONE! LOOK OUT!"

Jerking her head, she recognized her mistake... Dolohov may have been silenced, but he could still cast.

With a flick of his wand, Dolohov muttered an inaudible curse and sent a band of purple flames flying at her.

CRACK!

Searing pain was all she knew next as her chest felt like it had been sliced open by a hundred hot pokers. The shock was so absolute that she could only gasp and stumble backwards against... and suddenly through... the immovable black door behind her.

She could barely think. The pain was too great. Blood was gushing down her front, soaking her robes and making her lightheaded. She barely even registered the odd room around her... an enormous brass? gold? bowl of some sort in the middle of the room. No, not a bowl... a vase? not tall enough. There were raised sides. Hermione's mind conjured up an image of a Faberge' egg for some reason. But the egg was molten lava red, pulsating and writhing within invisible walls... Black tendrils within the force field began straining towards her...

Hermione staggered sideways, black fog narrowing her vision like a vignette, the pain turning to ice...making her chest seize up. She couldn't breathe. "Stupid, stupid!" she chastised herself.

But even more than disappointment in herself for making such an obvious error, she felt disappointment that she would die here without knowing if Harry and her friends would survive this encounter. And profound sorrow knowing that Harry would almost certainly blame himself for her death...

She finally fell, collapsing into the humming, almost vibrating metal containment device. And the dark red Magic, finally free of its prison and sensing the Pain within her, eagerly rushed in.

June 18, 1890.

Miriam Fig, Unspeakable working in the Department of Mysteries on special assignment, nearly jumped out of her skin when the very same dark blue and white Magic she'd spent the last sixteen years researching unexpectedly manifested in her office not fifteen feet away.

More than shocked, she was dumbfounded when the swirling vortex not only appeared out of nowhere, but then disappeared just as quickly...leaving a young, unconscious girl lying on the floor in its wake. Taking a moment (or several) to calm her skyrocketed heart and breathing rate, not to mention process what she'd just seen, Miriam slowly moved around her desk to cautiously approach the body.

Wand already in hand, the 58 year old Unspeakable cast Revelio and a few other diagnostic charms to evaluate both her own safety and the condition of the girl lying on the floor. Astute witch that she was, Miriam immediately noticed Hogwarts student uniform - Gryffindor, she couldn't help but smirk.

No warnings emerged from her diagnostics, so she closed the distance and used a quick Levicorpus to move the girl onto her back.

Blood?

The girl's whole chest and torso were soaked with it, clearly originating from the ragged rip in her uniform extending from her collarbone on one side down across her opposite breast. Miriam cast her medical diagnostic charm once again, very confused why it hadn't recognized a clearly mortal injury. But once again, it came back green.

Should she summon a Mediwitch? Call Saint Mungos? At the very least, she should notify her Department Head of this peculiar development. And Hogwarts, since they will be invested in the wellbeing of their student.

And yet, Miriam Fig hesitated.

This Gryffindor student was somehow connected to Ancient Magic, and perhaps could shed more light on the topic. Had she herself been the one controlling the portal that delivered her here? Did this girl deliberately seek her out and transport herself here because she knew who Miriam was? Perhaps it was intentional and telling others would undermine the very reason she appeared in her office.

A million thoughts raced through the middle-aged witch's head as she stood paralyzed between decisions.

It was only when the girl on the floor emitted a low moan that Miriam jumped into action.

Grabbing a large pinch of Floo powder, the Unspeakable stepped into her office fireplace and barked "Accio student!" The girl groaned slightly, still flopping like a ragdoll to Miriam's side. "Home!" She flung the powder at her feet and the two vanished in a swirl of green flames.

Slowly, groggily, Hermione came to her senses.

She knew she couldn't be dead, because everything hurt too much... and not in a "fire and brimstone" sort of way... in a very real sore and whiplash and head throbbing sort of way. However, she was thankful to feel a mattress under her battered body and a pillow beneath her head. Perhaps she was in the Hogwarts Infirmary after all, or even St. Mungos... Which would imply that they had won or escaped the Department of Mysteries! Did her friends survive? Were they okay?

With much effort, she cracked her eyes open, expecting to see either a long row of beds in the medical wing of the castle, or the insides of a room at a wizarding hospital.

She was very much confused to see the interior of a private bedroom.

The quilt covering her had a dark pink floral pattern unlike any she recognized, and the decor followed a similar theme. No wall paper - stone walls with a couple paintings nailed into the mortar. A gas lamp sat next to a decorative pillbox on a lace doily at the small round table next to her. A dark rug on the floor covered grey stone as well. Was this a room in Hogwarts somewhere?

A sudden throb in her head made her moan in pain and she forced her eyes shut a moment.

The noise she made must have alerted whoever was responsible for rescuing her, because there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, it cracked open and a middle-aged woman with a kind face peeked in the room.

"Oh good, you're awake!" she entered the rest of the way inside and closed the door behind her. "I was hoping I'd get to speak with you before my husband returned."

"Where... where am I?" Hermione asked quietly, not quite reassured by this woman's secrecy.

"My home," the lady answered. "You appeared in my office by Ancient Magic and I took the liberty in taking you home and cleaning you up."

Hermione forced her hands to move and felt her chest where Dolohov had hit her with his cutting curse and felt... "Ah!" she winced.

"Ah yes, whatever that was healed during transport. I'm afraid your school uniform is irreparable, but that gash across your bosom had sealed by the time you landed on my floor. Must still be tender though, so don't go about touching it."

Hermione inhaled steadily to control her pain. "Thank you for caring for me, Mrs...?"

"Fig," the woman answered. "Miriam Fig. I work for the Ministry, but am rarely inside it, so it was very fortunate timing you showed when you did. Did you know I would be there today?"

"N-no ma'am," Hermione shook her head and then immediately regretted it.

Striding forward, Miriam picked up a small glass bottle sitting on the opposite nightstand on the side closest to her. There was a green potion sloshing around inside, and Mrs. Fig wasted no time in popping the small cork and handing it to her guest.

"Drink this, you'll feel better."

Hermione's unsteady eyes struggled to focus. "Is that... what is it?"

"Wiggenweld. It'll put you in fine fettle in no time."

A faint smile reached Hermione's eyes as she tipped the bottle back and drank the contents. "I thought it was. Thank you, Mrs. Fig."

"Call me Miriam. Now, I have a million questions, which I hope you-"

"Miriam, excuse me then, I'm sorry, but could you please tell me what happened at the Ministry after I disappeared? Are my friends all right? Was anyone from Hogwarts hurt?"

"Seems I'm not the only one with a million questions," Miriam grumbled, but only for a moment. "I know nothing of where you came from before you transported to my office in a vortex of Ancient Magic. To my knowledge, nothing happened at the Ministry before you arrived, and I made darn certain that nobody knew anything after we left."

"Ancient Magic?"

"It's what I've devoted my life to studying. It's why I brought you here to my home instead of bringing the attention of every Unspeakable in the Department. You clearly have some kind of connection to this force, and I wish to learn more from you about it."

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know anything about what you're speaking of. The last thing I remember was my group of friends and I being attacked by a group of Death Eaters in the Prophecy Room, then getting hit by a curse-" Hermione gestured at her décolletage "-and then...nothing."

"Attacked by whom? A group of what?"

"Death Eaters. Followers of Voldemort?" Hermione paused for Miriam to gasp at the brazen saying of his name, but it didn't come. The woman looked completely nonplussed. "Dark Wizards."

"Ah. Well, there always seem to be plenty of those around. But you said you were in the Prophecy Room when this all occurred? That can't be possible - it's very close to my office and I would have heard a commotion of those sorts. How do you even know of that room? All Department of Mysteries employees are sworn to secrecy, so how did you come to learn of it?"

"Harry's been having visions of it in his sleep. It's a mental connection he has to Voldemort, and I had a feeling he was manipulating that line to lure Harry into a trap, and I TRIED to tell him, but he was SO convinced that Sirius was being held hostage and I didn't know what else to do after I insisted he Floo first and Kreacher said he was gone, and-"

Miriam's shaking head was enough to get Hermione to stop rambling. "Clearly there was some sort of miscommunication going on. So a friend of yours saw visions of the Department of Mysteries?"

"Not just any friend. It was Harry Potter."

Mrs. Fig sighed. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Hermione frowned. Her formidable intellect began scratching at the insides of her brain. Something was not right. Nobody, especially someone who claimed they work in the Department of Mysteries, would be ignorant of both Voldemort AND Harry Potter. "Mrs. Fig, my family and friends are going to be worried about me. Would you please owl Headmaster Dumbledore to let him know where I am and that I'm all right?"

"Headmaster? Of Hogwarts?"

"Yes...?"

"There is nobody by that name at Hogwarts." Suddenly now Miriam Fig frowned in suspicion at the girl lying in her guest bed. She wasn't an idiot either. "What did you say your name was, Miss?"

"I didn't. Albus Dumbledore isn't someone you'd forget."

"My husband is a professor there. I assure you there is no staff member by that name."

Hermione swallowed, then made to push down the quilt and sheets. "You've been very kind, Mrs. Fig, but I think I should probably be getting back to school now."

"Who are you, really?" Hermione's eyes caught the motion of Miriam's wand slipping into her hand and stilled.

Looking into the older woman's eyes, Hermione made a judgement call and decided to just be honest. "My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a fifth year student, class of '98, and the battle in the Department of Mysteries is the last thing I remember. Please, I just want to go home."

"Class of '98? You can't be a fifth year and still have eight years left at Hogwarts."

Hermione blinked. "I don't know what you mean."

"You'd have to be starting this fall to be in the class of '98, Miss Granger."

"I'm...sorry?" Hermione fumbled her thoughts for a moment, until realization hit her. "Department of Mysteries. I fell into a neighboring room. It's starting to come back to me. I must have been in the Time Chamber. That vase that crashed..."

"Now you were in the Time Chamber?"

"Mrs. Fig, what year is it? How far did I travel?"

Understanding passed over Miriam's face for the first time since she entered the room. "It's June 18th, 1890. When are you from?"

"EIGHTEEN ninety?!" Hermione shrieked horsely. "How in Merlin's balls could I have traveled over a CENTURY?! That shouldn't even be possible!"

Miriam placed a steadying hand on the doorframe as she swam in her own thoughts. "Class of '98...1998... How indeed."

Hermione's panic attack was cut short by the sound of a door opening and closing and a kindly male voice calling out from elsewhere in the house. "Miriam, I'm back!"

The middle-age witch's eyes closed in brief irritation, but she forced them back open and screwed her mouth into something resembling a smile.

"My husband," she said as explanation. "Wait here, and I will try to come up with something."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Miriam had already closed the door.

Mind reeling, she forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed and strained to hear the conversation happening outside her door down the hallway.

"Young girl."

"Orphan."

"Muggle!"

"Ministry's charge."

"Late bloomer."

"Fifth year?"

"Rarity."

"Behind."

"Volunteer."

"Hogwarts?"

Those were the only words she managed to pick out of the low murmuring.

It felt like an hour had passed, but it must have only been several minutes before the door opened again and Miriam reappeared, wearing an odd expression Hermione couldn't quite define.

"Well Miss Granger, you are definitely an anomaly of the most curious kind. You seem a bright young witch, so I won't presume to tell you that Magic as we presently understand it offers no hope of return to your time."

Hermione nodded miserably. "I'm afraid it's no different in 1996."

Mrs. Fig pressed her lips together in a way that reminded Hermione of Professor McGonagall's signature look of disapproval. It made the backs of her eyes sting with tears, hit with the sudden realization she'll likely never see her again. Or any of her friends. Or her family. Or any of the culture and things she knew and loved...

Picking up on the sudden upswell in silent emotion, Miriam softened her voice. "What I can do, however, is offer you asylum here. Temporarily at the very least. I travel quite a lot for my research, and my husband typically stays at Hogwarts during the semester, leaving this place vacant and welcome to you."

Hermione sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "That's incredibly kind of you."

"In return..." Miriam attempted to broach this topic gently, but she knew it was always awkward to ask for an exchange. As she feared, the young Gryffindor stiffened slightly. "In return, all I ask is that I can study you and look into the connection you seem to have with Ancient Magic. You can't deny that your sudden appearance in MY office courtesy of the one mysterious force I've devoted my life to studying is..." she trailed off.

"So massively coincidental that it beggars belief?" Hermione offered.

The corners of Miriam's lips quirked up. "Quite so."

"I have no problems with that," Hermione answered. "I think if anything holds the key to my return to 1996, it would be this Ancient Magic, so I am quite invested in the outcome of your studies."

"Good. Now before I permit you to leave this room, I must brief you on the story I've told my husband. My working for the Department of Mysteries grants me a few privileges, such as creating and modifying a record for you. This is a breach of ethics and regulations, but I've done worse for less." Her voice was casual as she mentioned this, but Hermione caught the fast wink she shot her, making the younger girl smile. "Your official story is that you've lived your life up to this point as a Muggle orphan, which would explain your nonexistence in both the Ministry's and Hogwarts' records. Now that you've suddenly manifested your magic, you are under the Ministry's charge. I volunteered to house you and prepare you to enter Hogwarts this fall...and so has my husband, who teaches Magical Theory there. I just informed him of, and thanked him for his gracious offer to tutor and escort you to Hogwarts in August." Another wink. "In the meantime, our house is your house, and I can requisition enough funds from the Ministry to outfit you with daily necessities and school supplies. I'm afraid that since you are, for all intents and purposes, a Muggle who has just discovered the existence of magic, I must ask that you pretend to be completely ignorant of our world and accept my husband's well-intentioned instruction in the basics. You will also have to endure the indignity of arriving at Hogwarts as a 5th year with no prior knowledge of spells or the school. Hopefully that lumpy sack of a hat will have the decency to keep his ripped hole silent about your true background."

She fell silent as she tried to think if she'd forgotten anything.

"Thank you, Mrs. Fig...Miriam. I truly appreciate your hospitality and for everything. I hope we will find the solution to my problem before I even have to think about returning to Hogwarts."

Hermione gave a brave face at this last sentence, but as it hung in the air between them, they both shared a common feeling of foreboding...

Something Ancient and mysterious brought Hermione Granger here, and both women had a sixth sense that it brought her here for a purpose.